The Disappearance of Stiles Stilinski
by IAmToast24
Summary: It's been five days since the Horsemen came and took Stiles Stilinski. Now his friends recount their memories of him while also trying to find him before their memories fade away or are stolen. Will they find him in time? Or will they forget that Stiles even exists?
1. The Memories of Lydia Martin

Lydia Martin cannot possibly be in love with Stiles Stilinski. Or, at least that's what she tells herself late at night as her heart pounds furiously against her chest. It's become almost a mantra, a chant, reminding her to come back down to Earth. But every chant is accompanied by the memory of their last moment together. She can remember it so clearly: the way he held her face in his hands and kissed her with gentleness she thought he didn't possess. And now he's gone: picked up by the wind in the night, destined to be forgotten by all those who hold him dear.

It's been five days.

Five days since the Horsemen came to get him. Five days since she's heard his voice or touched his skin. Five days since her heart stopped beating, since she realized it was Stiles that her heart was beating for all along. And those five days were torture, not just for her, but for each and every person that could remember him: Scott, Malia, Sheriff Stilinski, Derek, Liam, and Hayden.

They all worry about the day when their memories will disappear.

Scott hasn't stopped searching for his best friend. Any trace of evidence left behind, he finds. But he's not a detective in any sense of the word, especially not the way he needs to be. Not the way that Stiles was. Liam and Hayden are helping him, but their memories are slipping away. Lydia can see it on each of their faces when someone says Stiles' name: there's a moment of confusion before they remember, and a twitch of guilt right after the fact.

Lydia fears the day her memory goes, too. It seems impossible, though, that she could ever forget Stiles. There are some things, some memories, that are just woven into your mind…

 _They were running through the tunnels, stumbling to find a place to hide from the monsters that were chasing them. Eventually, they hit a dead end. There was nowhere to go, no place to find safety. Lydia ran her hands up and down the wall frantically, searching for some way out._

" _There's got to be a trap door or a hole or something here," Lydia told Stiles. Her voice was raw from screaming and it was fragile even to her own ears. She wanted to believe that they would escape, despite everything that told her that her efforts were futile. There_ had _to be a way to save Stiles._

" _Lydia," Stiles said, his tone quiet and hopeless. That was when she knew he had given up. She didn't even look at him, didn't want to see the darkness of defeat in his eyes. Accepting that Stiles would be taken away from them, from her, was too much. She refused to do it._

" _There's a way out, Stiles. There's always a way out."_

" _Not this time, Lydia." He put his hand over hers and stopped its movement. She finally glanced over at him, to see the look in his eyes, but he was gazing at her hand, his expression unreadable. "Not this time."_

 _Wordlessly, he grabbed both of her hands in his and rubbed his thumb over her calloused skin. A tremor went through her then, one made up of both fear and excitement. He lifted her right hand to his lips and gave it a soft kiss, as if he was healing a trusting child's pain. All of a sudden she had the urge to crash his lips to hers, to make him a part of her so that he could never leave her side. It was such an intense feeling that it knocked the wind right out of her and she gasped unintentionally._

" _I guess this is when we say goodbye," he said, his voice slightly cracking at the end of his sentence. His face was open, his chocolate eyes melting, and all Lydia saw was his brokenness. She wanted to fix it, to heal his wounds, to right all the wrongs done to him. She wanted to bend the world in order to shape it to his preference, because his happiness would inevitably mean hers. And she was shocked. This was Stiles she was thinking of this way, Stiles she desired in this moment, and probably all along. She'd just never been forced to notice it so acutely until now._

" _No," she whispered. "I can't-" she shook her head, unable to voice her discovery._

" _You have to, Lydia." He cradled her head in his hands, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "They're coming and I won't let you get yourself hurt trying to protect me." Lydia couldn't take it any longer. She pulled him to her with a strength she didn't know she had, crushing his lips against her mouth._

 _He was surprised at first, his hands splaying on either side of her face, but his lips melted into hers soon enough and then the world dropped out from underneath her. She had to hold onto him for balance because it truly seemed as if the Earth had shifted on its axes. His thumb brushed her cheek and she expanded, a sensation she'd never felt before. It was like he was killing her by cracking her open: her heart raced, her lungs could suddenly breathe more air, yet all she wanted to do was breathe in Stiles. Lydia felt both as if she was more alive than ever before and as though she was dying. But even if she knew that kissing Stiles would kill her, she'd do it again. She'd do it a thousand times, die a painful death a million times over, rather than lose him._

 _That's when the footsteps echoed down the tunnel and they broke apart, his hands still caressing her cheeks, her fists still balled up in his t-shirt. He looked in the direction of the sound while holding her to him, as if she was the one in need of protection. As they got closer, Stiles pulled Lydia's face close to his, a mixture of happiness and heartbreak lighting up his eyes._

" _I love you, Lydia Martin." The steps got closer, and the Horsemen rounded the corner. "Don't forget me." He brushed her hair back wistfully._

" _I won't." And then it all goes black._

 _That was the last time Lydia Martin saw Stiles Stilinski. It was also the first time she thought she might be in love with him._


	2. The Memories of Scott McCall

Scott McCall needs a shower. Seriously, he hasn't bathed in three days and everyone knows it. But who can think about hygiene at a time like this?

Stiles has been missing for six days, and it seems as though every time Scott gets close to an answer as to where he is, all the clues disappear and he's right back where he started. It helps that Liam and Hayden are looking for him wherever Scott can't, but he knows that their memories will leave them eventually, and he'll be left alone. Sheriff Stilinski has his own search going, but he doesn't seem to be having any more luck than Scott. Malia also prefers to search on her own, but Scott mostly thinks it's because she doesn't want the pack to see her grief.

Lydia's a whole other story. For the first few days, she wouldn't even speak. She meditated, trying to hone in on Stiles' location using her Banshee powers. When that didn't work, she began making plans and strategizing, using equations and maps that no one understood. Scott doesn't think she's slept since Stiles disappeared, at least not well. There are dark circles under her eyes that concern him. But it's not as if he can tell her to sleep; he knows what it's like to fear the darkness that lies behind one's own closed eyes.

Today, Scott walks into the animal clinic like he's done since Stiles disappeared. He throws his bag down and goes into the back room, expecting the same, defeated pack to be hunched over the table. But something is different this morning. When he enters the room, he sees only Lydia writing gibberish in her notebook of miracle solutions. No Hayden or Liam.

"Lydia," Scott says, "where are Liam and Hayden." Lydia doesn't seem to notice him, and if she does, she doesn't answer him or even acknowledge what he said. She just continues furiously scribbling in her notebook. Scott walks over to her and puts his hand on hers to still its movement.

"Lydia." Her whole body seems to stall. Lydia looks up at him, and he realizes that there are tears streaming down her face. Her bottom lip begins to quiver.

"It's happening," is all she gets out before the sobs begin. "They...forgot."

With those two words, Scott's vision gets hazy. He shakes his head, as if his physical expression of disbelief could reverse what has already been done. He hears Lydia crying, but it seems distant, removed. He sits down, unable to stay on his feet for this.

"We have to find him," he tells Lydia, but it's mostly for himself. "Before…" He locks eyes with Lydia and they both know exactly why they have to find him as soon as possible. She reaches her hand out and puts it on his arm.

"I don't want to forget him," she declares, her voice hoarse. Scott can see, in her eyes, that she cannot bear the thought of a world without Stiles in it, just as he couldn't imagine a life without his best friend. What's even worse is that, if they don't find him, they'll forget that they even knew a world in which he existed.

"Neither do I," Scott responds. He takes a deep breath and finds the strength to stand. "That's why we're not going to stop searching until we've found him." After moment, Lydia nods and they continue looking at maps and tracking down leads.

That night, Scott finally showers. When he gets out, he looks over at his bed and remembers the first time he realized that Stiles was his best friend…

" _Okay, but I think she might have actually noticed me this time!" Stiles argued, dropping his bag on Scott's bed. It was the first week of seventh grade and Scott and Stiles both had English class as their last period. Lydia Martin also happened to be in said class. Of course Lydia didn't even remotely notice either of them, but Stiles was convinced she made eye contact with him. Now he was trying to convince Scott that one day she would notice him and they'd fall madly in love._

" _No way, dude," Scott disputed. "Lydia wouldn't notice if you were dying right in front of her." Stiles threw a pillow at Scott and rolled his eyes._

" _Not true!"_

" _Oh, right. She'd probably notice that you were getting blood on her shoe, yell at you, then step over your lifeless body." Scott gave Stiles his best sarcastic smile, prompting Stiles to laugh._

" _Whatever," Stiles said. He opened his textbook, about to read the assigned chapter for science class. They had the worst teacher, Mrs. Lenz, and neither of them wanted to get called out for not doing the homework. Scott was opening his book up as well when Stiles spoke again, but in a more serious voice._

" _You know that's just an act, right?" Scott looked up at him, surprised by his sincere tone. "She's not dumb or petty. She just wants people to see her that way." He was writing notes casually, but the strain in his jaw told Scott that he cared deeply._

" _How do you know?" Scott asked. Stiles always made comments like that: explaining things that were hidden to most eyes. But not Stiles'; Scott knew he couldn't get a thing past the guy._

" _Because I don't just see what people want me to see. I'm curious, and my dad says it'll get me in a lot of trouble one day, but it's worth it."_

" _What's worth it?" Scott wondered._

" _Finding the truth. Solving the puzzle," Stiles answered. Scott thought back to all the times Stiles had been there to help him solve a problem or find the truth, even when it meant that Stiles would pay the price. Like when Scott broke his mom's car window playing street hockey, Stiles took the blame because he knew how much Scott hated to disappoint his mom. Or the time Scott broke his arm climbing a tree and Stiles knew exactly what to do and who to call. In that moment, sitting on his bed, looking at Stiles, Scott realized that he had always been and would always be his best friend._

 _True to his word, Stiles always solved the problems in Scott's life. He was there when Scott became a werewolf, there when he had been at his worst, there when he'd lost Alison. Throughout the years, Stiles has been Scott's companion and his problem-solver._

 _It's ironic that Stiles isn't here to solve Scott's biggest problem yet._


	3. The Memories of Malia Tate

Malia Tate probably shouldn't be doing this. It's two o'clock in the morning, she didn't tell anyone where she was headed, and she has no idea where she's going, or even where she is at the moment. Leaves swirl in the wind all around her, their scent momentarily distracting her from the scent she picked up. For days she's been rummaging through Stiles' possessions, attempting to catch a whiff of something, anything that could lead her towards him. Now she's finally found a faint connection.

But it's beginning to seem like another dead end. There have been too many of those for Malia to take another one. She _has_ to find Stiles. Scott told her that Hayden and Liam forgot this morning, their memories vanishing in the night. Now it's as if he never existed to them, like he wasn't even there. That's why she vowed not to sleep tonight, or any night, until she's found him.

She will not forget. She refuses to.

Still, it's hard to focus on his scent when the trail she's taking twists every few steps and she's sleep deprived. Malia stumbles over a branch she didn't see and topples to the ground. Unable to stop her momentum, she rolls down a steep incline into a hard, rock-like surface, hitting her head in the process. Her vision, which was already spotty, blurs completely, and then goes black.

"No," she whimpers, but the dregs of sleep pull her under without her permission. At least Stiles can be with her in her dreams…

 _Malia and Stiles laid on his bed, her arms around him as he quietly slept. She could feel his breath, its rhythm soothing her more than anything else in the world. She'd never thought she could feel safe or comfortable. Back when she was a coyote, the only thing she understood was the need to survive, and that never came with a feeling of safety. But now, with Stiles' body entwined with hers, she felt at peace. She closed her eyes and nuzzled her face into his neck._

 _Stiles woke her up as the sun was rising, drawing small circles on the backs of her hands. She rubbed her feet against his calves in return and soon he was rolling over and kissing her. Stiles ran his hand down her neck lightly, sending chills throughout her body. His left arm was wrapped around her, pulling her as close as she could get. Malia's entire being seemed to catch fire whenever he touched her, as if it knew that his body would tame the flames. Or perhaps it thought his body would only add to the fire so that they could explode together. And that's what it felt like: an explosion._

 _Malia pulled his shirt off, desperate to touch his skin in as many places as possible. While she was running her hands down his sides, she felt a gash and heard him gasp in pain. She quickly pulled away and tried to inspect the injury. It was a cut that ran from the top of his rib cage to just above the line of his pants. It looked like it had been there for a few hours at most._

" _What happened?" Malia asked._

" _Oh, nothing. You know how clumsy I am," he answered with a casual shrug of his shoulders. But she heard his heart speed up a bit and his tone was a little too casual, as if he was trying to not give something away._

" _This is more than clumsy, Stiles," Malia retorted. "What did you do, fall onto a cutting board?" She tried for a humorous tone, hoping he felt comfortable enough to share the truth with her._

" _Nah," Stiles said, "I was cleaning the gutters for my dad and I fell off the ladder half way down." He touched the cut on his side. "A stray piece of metal cut me on my fall." There was that small fluctuation in his heartbeat again._

" _Yeah but it doesn't even look like you tried to clean it off or bandage it." She was trying to get him to reveal whatever it was that he was hiding._

" _Hey, I washed it off and put some neosporin on it, okay?" he said. "You know, not all of us can heal right away." Malia looked up at him. His tone seemed casual enough but his heartbeat sped up again and Malia knew he wasn't being honest with her. She was about to call him out on it when he began tickling her. Malia couldn't help but laugh since he knew all of her vulnerable spots._

" _Are you insinuating that I'm dirty, Malia Tate?" he managed to say through his own laughter._

" _I don't even...know what that...means," Malia gasped, trying to regain her breath. Stiles started kissing her neck, and she almost forgot what they'd been talking about._

" _It means that I love you," he murmured against her skin. "That's all you need to know." Malia sighed, ignoring that fact that he just blatantly lied to her because she knew that he did love her. Whatever it was that he was hiding, he would tell her when he was ready. For now, she just wanted to enjoy the taste of his lips and the feel of him inside of her. Nothing else mattered. Just Stiles, only, always Stiles._

Malia wakes up with the sun beating down on her face and the memory of Stiles' taste fresh on her lips. Her cheeks feel wet and she realizes she's been crying in her sleep. Her head throbs and her body aches but all she can think is that she has to hold on to the memory of his scent. In her dream, she could smell him: his combination of soap and ink. The chemo-scent of anxiety that followed him everywhere, but also the scent of love that she could sense whenever she was around him. It's so vivid that she almost thinks it could be real.

Malia shakes herself off and gets up off the ground. Her head is still pounding but she can see more clearly now. After assessing her injuries, she concludes that she'll be fine. Most of them are already healed. With a deep sigh, Malia turns around to leave this strange part of the woods. But something stops her. She sniffs the air, wondering why she can still smell Stiles. It can't be just remnants of her dream, it's too strong for that, too real.

Suddenly, she's locked into his scent and she knows exactly where to go. Acting on instinct, Malia lifts the rock surface she landed on and finds a hole in the ground with a ladder built into it. She quickly climbs down and finds herself in a cave with tunnels branching off from it. And in the entrance to one of those tunnels, she finds Stiles' flannel shirt.

Malia runs over to it, grabbing it and holding it close to her chest while breathing in its scent. Standing up on shaky legs, Malia yells his name through the tunnel. She yells it multiple times, as if the more she yells it the better her chances are of getting a response. As she expected, nothing comes back but an echo. But it's still something, a connection to him. It's more than she's had since he disappeared.

With her hopes of finding Stiles increased, Malia finally lets herself take a break. She sits down with her back against the tunnel wall and cradles his shirt, remembering all the times he wore it or lent it to her. This one is green, blue and white, and she remembers him wearing it to the pizza shop down the street when his father treated them to dinner. She hopes that she gets another chance to make fun of him for his fashion sense like she did that day.

Looking around her, Malia realizes that she can't handle this alone. The tunnels could lead to anywhere or could be a trap of some sort. Plus, she can't rescue Stiles on her own. She needs help and she knows exactly what number to dial.

"Scott, it's Malia," she says when he picks up. "I found something."


	4. The Condemnation of Memory

Lydia can sense that Stiles was here. It's less of a sense and more of a feeling, similar to the kind she gets when she can feel that someone's dead. Luckily, it's not the same, so she knows that he's alive. She breathes a sigh of relief.

The tunnels are darker than Malia described them, but Lydia should have known better than to take the word of a supernatural werecoyote with night vision. Still, she can feel her way around the space and her flashlight does the rest. The stench of the tunnels is atrocious and the mold growing on all the walls creeps Lydia out. But she'd never show it.

"What is it?" Malia asks frantically after hearing Lydia's sigh. Lydia shines her flashlight in her direction in order to see her face. She regrets it the instant her eyes lock with Malia's. The look in her eyes hurts in more ways than one. In it, Lydia can see Malia's concern and love for Stiles. Lydia's feelings for him feel like a betrayal in a way they haven't since she discovered them, so she looks away.

"He was here," she responds. "And he's definitely alive." It's strange to her that she can sense him like this. She's never been able to do that before. Usually she predicts or confirms death. She's a Banshee, nothing else. Still, she can feel Stiles, can smell his scent and taste his lips, as if she's tethered to him. After taking a deep breath to push away the pain in her heart, Lydia follows the feeling down the tunnel to her right.

"Wait," Malia says. "I found his shirt in that tunnel." She points to her left, holding up Stiles' flannel. Lydia tries not to think about the image of him wearing it that swirls around in her head.

"Doesn't matter," she tells her. Lydia goes deeper into the tunnel with Scott and Malia following her. As she walks, images flash before her eyes, blinding her. Stiles, running from the Horsemen, his face bruised and bloody, his eyes searching for an escape route that isn't there. The Horseman, grabbing him roughly, causing him to scream out in pain. Ropes dragging him by the wrists towards an unknown destination, his torso and face scraping the ground of the tunnels. Stiles, laying on the dirty ground, bleeding and moaning, drifting in and out of consciousness, whispering one phrase repeatedly: "Damnatio memoriae".

Lydia falls to her knees, overwhelmed by the things she's seen. Suddenly, she can't breath. All she manages is an ear piercing scream and after that there's nothing left. Hugging herself around the stomach, Lydia remembers the last time Stiles said those words…

" _Damnatio memoriae," Stiles announced, handing her a book he'd found at the library. "That's what it said." Lydia looked at the book and read the words. She knew what they meant but not what it had to do with anything. She shrugged._

" _Condemnation of memory. But how does that help us?" she asked him. Stiles looked at her with wide eyes, his signature look of excitement. She knew he must be knee deep in research about this, because that's what Stiles did whenever there was a puzzle to solve. It was like his whole presence was lit up by curiosity._

" _Well, back in the day, this phrase was used to mean that someone or something had been completely erased from history. It meant that someone had done something so terrible, so horrifying, that no one wanted it to be remembered, and so they made sure it was forgotten."_

" _That's nice to know, but that still doesn't explain how this information helps us," Lydia stated._

" _Don't you see?" Stiles asked. "The beast we're after has already done plenty of damage. So much damage that it was erased from history entirely." He flipped the page in the book, pointing to a suspicious leap in years on a document of events. "You have to admit that it makes sense." Lydia looked at the book and realized that he was right. She turned to the page that documented deaths and saw a number of unexplained deaths that had happened within days of each other. The statistics were representative of a serial killer, but somehow the official documents seemed tampered with._

" _Look at this," she offered, pointing to several deaths that all happened in the same day at the same place. "The official cause was documented as 'unknown forces', but it seems to me like it was a mass slaughter." She glanced up from the book and saw Stiles' expression drift the way it did when he would be working something out in his head. Lydia couldn't help but stare at him, knowing that he wasn't aware of her gaze._

 _The Stiles she'd met a few years ago was not the same Stiles she knew now. He was different, hardened in a way that made him stronger and wiser. But somehow, he had kept his boyish charm, that small, yet all important, piece of innocence and loyalty that was the fabric of his character. And without realizing it, she'd grown fond of this selfless, devoted boy, who had become a man when she wasn't looking._

 _She was definitely looking now. She was looking at the line of his jaw, admiring the way it was clenched while he thought. And she was counting the freckles on his left cheek, following them like constellations to his lips. Then she was staring at his eyes, wondering how she'd never noticed how beautiful they were, in the way that only complicated things could be. Lydia had never realized that dark brown eyes could hold such depth, as if they were portals to a world beyond her own. She wanted to jump into them, to see the world he sees._

 _The flutter of his long eyelashes broke Lydia out of her reverie. With a shake of her head, she banished all thoughts of wanting Stiles in any way._

" _Lydia, I think I have a plan," Stiles told her, unaware of the strange racing of Lydia's pulse. He grabbed the book and began to leave but he stopped right at the door, turning back to face Lydia, who still sat in her chair bewildered by her thoughts. "Aren't you coming?"_

 _Lydia hesitated before saying, "Yeah, of course."_

" _Good, because I can't do this without you." His words only added flames to the fire burning inside her._

 _As Stiles walked away, Lydia toke a deep breath and vowed to forget whatever strange emotion she had just experienced. She got up, brushed her skirt down and followed him. The feeling, without her permission, decided to follow her._

"Lydia," a voice says as she drifts into consciousness. "Lydia!" She opens her eyes and gasps at the sight of Scott and Malia. Looking around, she realizes that they're no longer in the tunnels but at the animal clinic.

"What happened?" she asks. They exchange a worried look. She knows what it means. "I remember going down to the tunnels and looking for Stiles but what happened after that?" Scott and Malia both look relieved to know that she hasn't forgotten.

"You collapsed and we searched the tunnels but couldn't find anything. We were worried about you so we took you back here." Lydia nods, understanding that they had not come any closer to finding him.

"Why'd you collapse?" Malia asks in the straightforward manner only she could use.

"Hey, give her some time to regain her bearings," Scott commands.

"Time's not on our side," Malia states. "Plus, she screamed before she passed out, so I want to know what's going on." Lydia thinks back to the tunnel and the visions she had of Stiles come back to her. There's no way to tell if they were real but she feels as if they were.

"It's okay, I can tell you what happened. Or, rather, what I saw."


	5. The Memories of Sheriff Stilinski

**Hey readers! Thank you so much for reading and (hopefully) enjoying this story. I got some requests for a chapter in Sheriff Stilinski's POV, so here it is. I wasn't originally going to do this so it's a bit different than some of the other chapters. Still, I like it and I hope you do as well!**

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Sheriff Stilinski forgot to make Stiles' bed this morning. Ever since the day he disappeared, the sheriff has been going into his son's room and making his bed, even though the bed has not been touched since the day before. Still, he does this each day as the sun rises, running his hands over the sheets, folding and refolding the edges of the comforter. It's become a ritual, something he could never forget to do. But he forgot this morning, left the house without even thinking about it.

It's been eight days.

Even that is blurred in his mind, as if his brain wants him to forget to keep track. He desperately hopes he can stop keeping track after today. Today, unlike any other day before, Sheriff Stilinski has a plan.

Well, it's not so much a plan as it is a lead. The station got a call last night about a suspicious trail of blood leading into an unmapped channel of underground tunnels. The sheriff told his inferiors to let him take care of it. They all think it's because he's covered similar case in that area. None of them know the truth; they've all forgotten that the sheriff even has a son.

When he gets to the tunnel's entrance, which was difficult even for him to find, he stops and looks around for any traces of Stiles: a scent, a footprint, a piece of clothing. He scours the entrance for an hour at least but comes up with nothing. The blood that was described stops at the beginning of the tunnels.

The sheriff yells out in frustration, throwing a rock into the dark. An echo rises from the sound of the rock hitting the wall, and Sheriff Stilinski attempts to remember the sound of his son's voice. After years of Stiles' sarcastic remarks, it should be easy to envision. But he can't. He can't hear his son's voice as he makes up an excuse for missing his curfew, or when he jokes with Scott, or when he finds an answer to a seemingly impossible problem. It's as if his voice has disappeared, leaving only a whisper of who he was behind for the sheriff to remember.

" _Daddy," Stiles whispered, looking up with worried eyes at his father. "What's wrong?" he grabbed onto the sheriff's hand, sensing that he needed comforting._

" _Nothing," Sheriff Stilinski said, blinking back the tears in his eyes. They had gone out for brunch that Sunday for the first time since she died. "Everything's fine, buddy." He tried for a convincing smile, but the look on his son's face told him that he'd failed._

" _No it's not," Stiles debated, his forehead crinkling. "We don't lie to each other, remember?" At this, the sheriff did smile a bit, the ends of his mouth turning up slightly. They had promised that a while ago, when Stiles told his father that he was going to the park when he'd actually gone over to Scott's house. That same day, Stiles had caught him filling out medical papers for his mother. Sheriff Stilinski lied and told him that they were tax forms, but even back then Stiles was too clever for his own good. So when Stiles got caught for going to Scott's house, he asked why he couldn't lie if the sheriff could. The kid made an excellent point, so he vowed never to lie to Stiles again as long as Stiles never lied to him._

" _I remember," the sheriff said with a sigh._

" _So what's wrong?" Stiles asked. Sheriff Stilinski hesitated, not wanting to hurt his son any more than he was already hurting. It could be a hard burden to bear, the truth._

" _I can't remember what her voice sounds like," he admitted, deep pain in his voice. "I was trying to conjure up her presence, trying to remember what it was like when she would sit with us here. But I can't remember her voice." He swallowed and hung his head, unable and unwilling to see the surely disappointed look in his son's eyes. "I'm losing her."_

" _No," Stiles said with such conviction the sheriff's head shot up. "You won't lose her, Dad." The look in his eyes was sincere but stern, as if he needed his father to believe him. "She'll always be here, whether we can see her or not. That's what you told me."_

" _I know son, but-"_

" _But nothing. As long as her love for us lives on, she will not be forgotten or lost. I believe that, Dad. I really do." Stiles gave his father's hand a squeeze then went back to eating his pancakes._

" _How did you get so wise?" he asked Stiles. Stiles just shrugged his shoulders._

" _I just like to think that she's watching over us, you know? And maybe, someday we'll see her again. I don't want her to be disappointed in me when that happens." Now the sheriff grinned widely, wondering how he got such an incredible son, looking up and knowing that it was mostly her doing._

" _I don't think she could ever be disappointed in you, son." Stiles smiled, glad for the praise._

" _I hope not because I want her to be happy," Stiles said._

" _If your mother could see you right now, Stiles, she would be the happiest person who ever lived."_

Sheriff Stilinski tries to hold on to the memory for as long as he can before it slips from his mind. It's getting harder and harder to remember him. Continuing his search, the sheriff shines his flashlight into the tunnels. As he's walking into the darkness, he hears a noise behind him. Immediately he turns around and aims his gun. But he only sees three figures coming towards the tunnels.

"Scott?" he vocalizes. Scott's eyes focus on him inquisitively.

"Sheriff? What are you doing here?" Malia and Lydia come into view behind Scott.

"I could ask you the same question but I think we're both looking for the same thing," he answers, and Scott shakes his head. He opens his mouth, perhaps to tell the sheriff what he's found but the words are drowned out by the siren that goes off inside the tunnels. All of them look at each other for a split second before they run towards the sound.

With every step, Sheriff Stilinski feels closer to his son. But he also feels his memories disappearing into thin air. He wonders if he'll even be able remember why he's running by the time he stops, or if maybe he'll just lose his son like he lost his wife.

Sheriff Stilinski runs faster than he's run in his entire life.


	6. The Memories of Brothers

**Sorry this took so long to write. I've been super busy, and the story deserved more time than it got but here's the next chapter. There isn't much action because I wanted to focus on the flashback, plus it's supper short. I hope you enjoy anyway!**

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Scott McCall cannot recall a time when he was more terrified than he is right now. And that's saying something because he's done some pretty scary shit.

He isn't scared because he's running towards an ominous sound through underground tunnels. No, he's done that before. He's also not afraid of the monsters that surely lie in wait at the destination they are striving to reach. Scott has faced down many a creature, always coming out victorious in the end. No, Scott McCall, true alpha, fearless leader, is terrified of only one thing: losing his best friend.

Scott can sense Malia and Lydia close behind him, their footsteps echoing as they run, none of them caring that they don't have a plan.

"Stiles!" he yells desperately. It's irrational, the Horsemen could easily hear him, but there's no room for rationality in Scott's brain. He has but one thought: _I have to save him, just like he saved me._

 _The last time Scott McCall saw his best friend, Stiles knocked him out._

 _They had been making a plan to lure the Horsemen away from Stiles, fighting about how stupid and pointless the plan was, when suddenly, Stiles stopped arguing._

" _Do you hear that?" he asked, his eyes going wide. Scott immediately tuned into his werewolf senses, listening for what Stiles had heard._

" _No, I don't hear anything," he finally admitted, confused. Stiles still had a terrified look on his face. He shook his head furiously and backed up._

" _No, no this can't be happening!" Stiles tripped over the chair in Scott's room, landing clumsily on the floor. Scott approached his friend, concerned about this sound he was hearing._

" _Stiles, it's okay," Scott assured him. He attempted to help Stiles up, but Stiles batted his hand away._

" _No! Scott, you've gotta get out of here!" Stiles' eyes hopped from one place to another, seemingly unable to rest._

" _Stiles, calm down," Scott commanded. But Stiles continued to breath heavily, his body scrambling around the room as his eyes had a second before. Then Stiles' gaze fell on Scott and he put his hands on Scott's shoulders. Scott will never forget the look his best friend gave him just then, the kind of defeated, destroyed look of someone who knew they were too far gone for anyone to save them._

 _Stiles said, with an eerie calmness, as he looked into Scott's eyes, "They're coming."_

 _Just as his words came out, Scott heard a large crash from the first floor of his house. Then Stiles was pushing him, frantically searching for a way to get Scott as far from him as possible. Scott stopped him._

" _We're not letting them take you!"_

" _They won't," Stiles assured him. "I'll go to the tunnels, remember? That was always the plan." He grimaced, because he knew, just as Scott knew, that the tunnels wouldn't protect him forever._

" _I can fight them," Scott announced desperately. Stiles shook his head._

" _Not without looking at them. And once you do, you're fate is the same as mine." They huddled behind Scott's door._

" _I don't care!" Scott whisper-yelled, unable to bear the thought of losing his best friend._

" _I do," Stiles replied. "And besides," Stiles grinned, "who's gonna save me if you're captured, too?" Scott shook his head once again, still not okay with Stiles giving himself up._

" _I'm not going to just leave or hide and let them take you," he said. Stiles sighed._

" _Then you leave me no choice," he declared, and in the blink of an eye, he brought a heavy metal object to Scott's head, hard, and Scott fell to the floor. The last thing he remembers was the soft whisper of Stiles' voice in his ear, saying three, simple, yet powerful words._

" _Forgive me, brother."_

As Scott runs through the tunnels, he can't help but realize that Stiles might just be the bravest person he's ever known. Sure, he's an alpha werewolf who's faced unimaginable horrors, but he's always had supernatural powers and forces on his side. Stiles has faced the exact same things he has, willingly, in order to save his friends, and he has none of the abilities they have. Even Lydia has a few powers she can use. Stiles has only his intellect. There's something endlessly beautiful to Scott about that kind of courageous loyalty.

He only hopes he can somehow channel Stiles' bravery right now, to repay the debt he surely owes his friend, his brother.

He has a feeling he will need every ounce of this borrowed bravery to face the Horsemen.


	7. The Memory of Love

Malia can almost taste the desperation in the air. It radiates off of Scott, Lydia, Sheriff Stilinski, and even her. Especially her. As she runs, Malia tries to remember everything about Stiles: his voice, his laugh, the way he held her. Each memory seems to propel her forward with a speed she didn't know she had. But, eventually the group hits a dead end, a thick brick wall with no outlets. All of them stop, completely confused and frustrated.

Malia watches, breathing hard, as Scott searches the wall, his hands running up and down it. Lydia and Sheriff Stilinski haven't caught up to them quite yet, and their footsteps still echo down the tunnels. After realizing that there's nothing to find, Scott yells out and punches the wall. He sounds like a dying animal, his wail filled with rage and grief.

"Scott," Malia says, placing her hand gently on his arm. As he glances at her, Lydia and Sheriff Stilinski catch up to them. They look around, though Malia doesn't know what they expect to find. The maroon bricks are illuminated by a flashlight in Sheriff Stilinski's hand, no sign of Stiles anywhere on them. Dust floats in the closed off space, nearly suffocating Malia. But it's more than just dust that's making it hard to breath.

"Where is he?" she asks roughly. Scott just shakes his head and pounds the wall again. Sheriff Stilinski runs his hand through his hair, rocking back on his heels. Lydia walks slowly over to the wall and touches it softly, her face a mixture of pain and longing. Malia waits for her to say something, to tell them that she has a feeling or a premonition. But Lydia just lets out a small sob and rests her head against the wall.

"Lydia," Malia whispers, touching her friend's shoulder. "What is it?" Lydia gazes up at her, her eyes clouded over, like a person waking from a dream.

"He was here," Lydia announces. She meets the eyes of her companions. "When they took him." All of them are silent for a moment after this, allowing the fact to sink in.

"How?" Scott asks. "And how do you know?"

"I don't know how, exactly. I think it's some sort of trick or trap that the Horsemen use." Lydia pauses and Malia sees her swallow. "As for the other question, I know because I was there." A single tear falls from Lydia's left eye as her voice cracks. "I was with him." They all stand there, silently, shocked and confused.

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Scott asks.

"At first I didn't remember, but then it came back to me and I…" Lydia trails off, glancing over a Malia. "I didn't think it mattered," she finishes with a shrug.

Malia can't help but notice the scent coming off of Lydia, the one she was too worried to sense before. But now Malia can smell it strongly, and it takes her breath away. There is loss, desperation, heartbreak, all in equal measure. Yet there's one scent that radiates off of her, practically consuming all the other emotions: love.

And, suddenly, everything clicks into place: Lydia's strangeness around her when they were searching the tunnels, her discomfort when Malia held his flannel, the fact that she kept her last memory of Stiles to herself. There's only one explanation for it all, for the furious beat of Lydia's heart. Malia should know; it's the same as her own.

Lydia is in love with Stiles.

" _How did you not feel this?" Malia asked Stiles, picking a piece of glass out of the skin just below his left ear. They were alone in a room of the animal clinic, the rest of their friends attending to their own injuries. Malia had volunteered to help Stiles since the rest of the pack had their hands full. If she was being honest, though, she just wanted to spend time with Stiles._

" _I guess I was too distracted at the time," he responded with a shrug. It was early in the morning, just hours after they had rescued Lydia from Eichen House, and light was beginning to seep into the room. This light illuminated Stiles' injuries, mostly cuts from the glass Lydia had broken with her scream. Malia smoothed her hand over his wounded skin._

" _Lydia really did a number on you," she joked. But Stiles didn't laugh. In fact, he flinched slightly at her touch. He tried to play it off like he was stretching his shoulders, but Malia could tell that something was off._

" _Yeah, well I'm just glad she's alive," he said. His voice was suspiciously closed off. Malia tried to catch his eyes with her own, but he wouldn't look at her._

" _Me too," was all she could think to say. They were quiet for a few minutes as Malia cleaned his cuts and bandaged him up. As she was putting the last bandage on, her finger grazed his neck lightly, and she thought back to when she would kiss the skin there. Her mind was suddenly thrust back into memories of endless nights spent tangled up in his sheets, kissing and laughing and whispering secrets and stories. Back to the days when his love for her was as strong as, if not stronger than, her love for him._

 _Stiles cleared his throat after she placed the last bandage on, and Malia was forced to realize that those days were over. Yet that didn't mean that she could or would stop loving him, that she didn't want him to be happy. She may not have known much about being human until recently, but she had learned at least one thing about human love: it is selfless in a way that an animal cannot understand. Malia had not comprehended this at first, unable to compare it to anything she'd learned as a coyote. But when Stiles had stayed with her during the full moon, even though survival instinct and logic both should have deterred him, she finally got it._

 _Now something was becoming just as clear, as the morning light began to illuminate Stiles' features. Perhaps it was her inability to let Stiles go that had made her miss the fact that he was already gone. She could tell that he cared for her still, but that his affections had shifted elsewhere. The way he had fought for Lydia, the tone of voice in which he said her name, the way he looked at her; it was becoming impossible to deny the truth._

 _As Stiles got up to leave the room, Malia grabbed his arm. He stopped but he still wouldn't look at her._

" _You love her, don't you?" she asked, already knowing the answer. There was a pause and Maia wondered if he wouldn't admit it. Finally, he sighed and gazed up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time._

" _Yes," he admitted. Then he shook his head. "But it doesn't matter. She doesn't love me." In spite of it all, Malia laughed, a short, breath of a laugh._

" _It matters, Stiles," she said, squeezing his arm slightly. "And I think she does."_

" _I don't know," he said with a shrug._

" _I do," Malia responded. "How could she not?" He smiled at her then, a warm but sad smile, and she knew that this was how their story would end. Somehow, she was okay with it. Maybe she was beginning to understand being human after all._

" _I'll always love you. You know that, right?" Stiles whispered. Malia nodded, unable to form the right words. But then, a second later, they came to her._

 _Even though it hurt, Malia kissed his cheek softly and said, "Goodbye, Stiles."_

Malia can't help but be both heartbroken and happy. To know that Lydia returns Stiles' affections is exactly what she hoped for him, but it is also what will break her.

Just as Malia is about to go over to Lydia, a thunderous stomping sound overwhelms her eardrums. All of them look at each other, knowing that their fate has been decided. They don't even try to escape, though, if they did, there wouldn't be a way out anyway. No, Malia, Scott, Lydia and Sheriff Stilinski just gaze down the dark tunnel, awaiting the arrival of the echoing gallops.

"The Horsemen are coming," Scott says. Lydia shakes her head.

"No, the Horsemen are here," she says. Then it all goes black.


	8. The Memories of Stiles Stilinski

**Sorry it's taken so long to write this! I've been super busy and uninspired. I had a vision for where this was going but now I think it's taking me in another direction, so I've been trying to figure that out. This chapter is in Stile's POV, which is new. I hope you enjoy it!**

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Stiles Stilinski can think of only one thing that he truly wants right now: his pillow.

Lying on the ground, bruised and utterly defeated, in an underground tunnel of which he doesn't know the location, Stiles should definitely have a list of about a hundred things he desires right now, the top of which should not include his pillow. But that's all his mind seems to be able to focus on: a strong longing for the thing that always makes him feel most at home.

Longing for anything else, or anyone else, has become unbearably painful. At first, he thought only of his friends and family: Scott, Lydia, Malia, his father. Stiles replayed memories like videos in his mind: Scott joking with him at Lacrosse practice, laughing at how comedically horrible Stiles was at it; Malia jumping up and down with excitement when she could finally control her claws; his dad working with him to solve a case, pretending that he was annoyed by Stiles' persistence even though Stiles could tell he was proud; and, finally, Lydia. She was everywhere in his memories.

Sometimes, he remembered the times they'd spent endlessly searching the library for clues, picturing the proud look she would give him when he'd figured something out. He used to live off of one of those looks for weeks. Other times, he remembered the countless occasions in which they'd saved each other, for it reminded him that she was a constant in his life, and that gave him hope. Most of the time, though, was spent remembering their last moments together: the sweet taste of her lips, the way she had pulled him to her with a shocking intensity, the look she gave him when he'd finally let out the words that had been caged within his heart for years.

That was all ruined once he realized that, as he was holding on to these memories, his loved ones were losing them. Time after time, he's had to keep reminding himself to have faith. His friends have always come through for him before, and he's certain they will now. But each moment he spends chained to the Horsemen's walls chips away at his hope, feeding his doubt.

Stiles hasn't seen another person in a long while, and he has no way of knowing the time or day because there's no link to the outside world in his cell. All that surrounds him is thick, grey walls and cold, hard ground. His clothes are tattered and bloody, a reminder of his escape attempt. There is no escaping now, that's for sure.

Sometimes, when there is nothing else to do but worry about his imminent death, Stiles imagines his friends living on without him. In his mind, their lives are lovely. Scott gets into the veterinary program at the school he wanted to go to, and he reunites with Kira once she's controlled her Kitsune. Malia graduates high school and goes to find others like her, to create her own pack of were-coyotes. And Lydia goes on to become a highly respected doctor who helps supernatural creatures on the side. They're all happy, oblivious to the fact that Stiles ever existed. Sometimes, Stiles wishes this for them.

And sometimes, he wishes that the Horsemen would just kill him already. He has no idea why they haven't yet; it makes no sense. There has to be some reason, though whenever he tries to discover it, the thought slips from his mind.

The Horsemen are powerful when it comes to the brain. Stiles doesn't know how they do it, but they seem to have a power that allows them into your head, not controlling, but erasing your thoughts. Somehow, they're able to take away memories and ideas, but they can't _make_ them.

Stiles senses that this is important, but has little time to dwell on the fact before the thought dissolves from his mind.

He often wonders why they haven't taken his memories. It would seem that their plans for him involve him remembering his past, and he's glad. What an awful thing it would be to never have known the people in his life, to never even realize that his life, which had once been full, is now empty. The worst part would be not noticing the void, since he wouldn't be able to remember that there was so much love in his life once.

All of a sudden, Stiles begins to feel drowsy, a little trick the Horsemen play on him from time to time. His eyelids drop and in no time he's nearly asleep, but not quite. And because he's not quite asleep, he hears it: a loud banging sound, like a rusty, heavy door opening. Then, there's a few muffled footsteps, shoe soles scraping the ground. Most of him wants to drag his mind into the land of unconsciousness, but a small part of him, the part not being persuaded by the Horsemen, barely manages to stay alert. Stiles senses that he's not supposed to know what's happening right now, which is precisely why he needs to find out.

For the first time in a long time, Stiles thinks he might have a chance to escape. Where there's a way in, there's always a way out. Until now, Stiles hadn't known anything about the layout of this place. Now he can piece together some of the clues. And if the Horsemen have other prisoners, their attention might be pulled elsewhere. For a brief moment, Stiles Stilinski allows himself to hope.

But then he hears a voice from the other cell, and suddenly he's defeated all over again, and scared out of his mind. Because he knows that voice; he'd know it in any place, forming any words. There is only one word that voice screams now: his name. But he can't reach that voice, that beautifully haunting voice, as the dregs of sleep continue to pull him under. He knows that anything he does or says is futile, but that doesn't seem to matter. All he can think about is getting to her.

 _"Stiles!"_ she screams in his memories, her voice both thrilling and terrifying. Oh how he'd wished, so many times, to hear her voice again. But now he wishes she had stayed there, trapped in his mind instead of this place.

"Stiles!" she yells in the present, pulling him from his memories.

Stiles attempts to crawl over to the wall, desperate to see her, or even just hear her more clearly. But his body won't cooperate, and his limbs fail him. The only thing he manages to do is reach his hand out toward her voice, his fingers stretching as far as they can go. This takes all of his strength, and, still, it's not enough.

"Lydia," he breathes, the last of his willpower gone. Then, with his arm stretched towards the girl he loves, Stiles passes out, the sound of her piercing screams echoing through his mind, following him into his dreams.


	9. Losing Your Memory

Lydia Martin knows that screaming will do her no good. This fact, however rational, doesn't deter her from yelling his name at the top of her lungs. She's not even sure that he's here, not entirely. But she can sense him, feel his presence as it grows closer to hers.

"Lydia," a soft voice sooths, breaking through her frantic desperation. Malia lays her hand on Lydia's arm. "Lydia, stop." The authoritative tone of her voice forces Lydia to obey. Even if she wanted to, Lydia probably couldn't have kept going for much longer. Already she can feel the soreness of her vocal chords.

Lydia sinks to the ground, defeated and weak. Only Malia accompanies her in this cell, which seems to be an unintentional kind of torture. She avoids eye contact with Malia, worried that her friend will see the truth in her eyes. There is silence for a long while.

"It's okay," Malia blurts, surprising Lydia, and, it seems, herself. Lydia must look confused because Malia goes on to explain. "I'm glad." She pauses. "You know, that you love him."

And suddenly Lydia feels like she's been punched in the chest. Never having heard those words aloud, she doesn't know what to do or say. Especially to Malia. So she just shakes her head numbly, her mouth open in surprise.

"You don't have to deny it," Malia says, her voice calm, almost distant. They sit in silence for a while, both digesting this. A shift seems to occur.

"I never wanted this, you know," Lydia says, glancing up at Malia. "I didn't intend to love him." Malia nods.

"I've learned that about love," Malia responds. "Loving Stiles, it's not something you can choose." She smiles sadly. "It just happens."

"I know," Lydia starts, "but I tried, so hard, not to fall for him. I just, couldn't help myself." Surprisingly, Malia laughs.

"Believe me, I'm the last person who's going to judge you for falling in love with Stiles." Malia walks over to Lydia and tenderly takes her hand. "How can I blame you for doing exactly what I did?"

"You're not...mad?" Lydia asks, not wanting to read her friend's words wrongly. Malia's lips form a sad smile.

"No," she says, looking at the ground. "Stiles and I, we've been over for a while now. I just want him to be happy." She glances over at Lydia. "And I want you to be happy, too. If those two things happen to coincide, I'm okay with it." Lydia lets out a surprised snort, giddy that this issue has been resolved.

"Did you just use the word 'coincide'?" she asks Malia, a grin growing on her face. Malia tries to look offended, but the corners of her mouth lift.

"Hey, I'm trying to study more. How else am I going to graduate with my pack?"

After this, they sit there in silence for a while, the banshee and the were-coyote. Lydia still feels the tether, its pull getting stronger until it's almost painful and she wants to scream again. TO distract herself, she begins replaying the reel in her mind, the one she compiled when Stiles went missing. It contains every memory she has of him, every moment she's had the pleasure of sharing with Stiles Stilinski. She closes her eyes and it's as if he's right in front of her, his presence so strong she can feel his body heat.

" _You don't care about getting hurt," he said. "But you know how I'll feel? I'll be devastated. And if you die, I'll got out of my freaking mind." Lydia looked into those deep brown eyes, shocked that he cared so much for her._

" _And I'm pretty sure that I'm the only one who knows how smart you really are!" he yelled at her. It was the first time anyone had ever figured out her secret. She had thought that no one cared enough to notice._

" _Lydia," he said. "Shut up and let me save your life." That was the moment she knew that he'd go to the ends of the Earth just to rescue her. In her clouded mind, he appeared to be surrounded by a ring of light, giving him an angelic aura. Lydia had never seen anything more beautiful._

" _Lydia," he says, her name a poem on his lips. "I'm right here Lydia."_ But this isn't a memory. It's a vision. He caresses her face gently, his eyes searching hers. " _Just open your mind."_

Lydia wakes with a start, not even realizing she'd fallen asleep. Her cheeks are wet with tears, and her heart feels heavy. She looks around the room for Malia and finds her huddled in the corner, curled up in wolf form. She shakes her awake.

"Malia," she says. "I think he's here. I think he's trying to get to us."

Malia asks groggily, "Who?"

"Stiles," Lydia insists. Malia looks at her, her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Lydia's heart skips a beat even before her friend's words leave her mouth.

"Who's Stiles?"


	10. Fragments of Memory

**Sorry this has taken so long and it's so short. I was having trouble picking up the storyline. It's beginning to flow again, so I hope you enjoy! More will be coming soon.**

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Scott's head is pounding. He knows that he has been captured, but he can't remember why or how. His thoughts are clouded over, as if someone is breathing into his mind. He shakes his head, trying to clear the feeling, but it remains. It's like he's a little kid again: unsure of the truth, but unable to remember the events that led him here. His head throbs and his breathing is shallow.

When he tires of wondering about this strange feeling, he takes a second to look around him. He seems to be in an underground cell of some sort, and the only other person with him is Sheriff Stilinski. How did they get here? The past is fractured in his mind, like someone tried to erase it but couldn't quite get the job done. His memories are shattered shards of glass, yet he can't remember how they broke.

"Where are we?" Sheriff Stilinski asks him. He has no answer, so he just shakes his head. A moment later, the cell opens on one side and masked men on horses gallop in. The crack of a whip jolts Scott into action. He jumps at the first Horseman, his claws and teeth ready to sink into his flesh. But when Scott latches onto him, his whole body burns, as if he's been set on fire from within. Scott falls away from the Horseman, his strength depleted. He hears Sheriff Stilinski cry out, but it's distant in his ears. He can tell that he's beginning to lose consciousness.

 _Scott can't remember much. All around him is darkness and pieces of a life he's unable to recall, like blank picture frames hanging in the hall. He knows that there were once pictures there, ones filled with happiness and friendship. But he can't quite access those memories._

 _A fragment of something still remains in his mind, a memory that he can't place. He looks in on it, as if he's watching himself through a pane of glass. In the memory, Scott sees himself as a five year old, on his first day of kindergarten. Next to him is a boy he doesn't quite recognize, but Scott feels a tug in his heart that makes no sense._

" _Hi," Scott says to the boy, a bit shyly. The boy looks Scott up and down, then proceeds to grin._

" _Hi. You look like you could use a friend." The boy says this with all the confidence in the world, his grin never leaving his face. Scott decides that he likes this strange boy, so he nods._

" _My name is Scott," he says, reaching his hand out for the boy to shake. The boy's grin grows even wider. He meets Scott's hand with his own and shakes it once, very firmly._

" _My name is Stiles."_

Scott wakes up with a gasp, suddenly able to remember the reason for everything. _Stiles._ His best friend. No, more than that. His brother. How could he possibly forget?

Scott once again has to take a moment to assess his surroundings: he's in a more open underground area, and Lydia, Malia, and Sheriff Stilinski are all there with him. He closes his eyes and listens to check that they're in fact still breathing, taking a breath of his own once he finds each of their pulses. In the middle of the space, there lies a long, red fabric, leading to what looks like an alter. None of it makes any sense.

Then the doors open and the Horsemen gallop in, surrounding the room, not even approaching Scott or his friends. They all seem to be waiting for something. Or someone.

Finally, after a bit of breathless wondering, a figure is thrown into the room. He's bloody and bruised, barely conscious, but Scott would recognize him anywhere.

"Stiles?" he whispers, scared to hope, afraid to believe. The figure lifts his face, it's features dusty and bruised. Stiles looks awful, hurt beyond his breaking point. But there are happy tears in his tired eyes, and a small lift to the corners of his mouth.

"You remember me?"


	11. Memories that Cannot Be Erased

"Stiles!" Scott exclaims, throwing his arms around his best friend. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, just now realizing the depth of his anxiety about his friends forgetting him. The Horsemen leave, and they are alone in the cell. Stiles looks around, taking in the state of his friends. His father lies unconscious on the floor next to Malia and Lydia. Scott sees his worried glance and is quick to assure him.

"They're fine," Scott says. "Just knocked out." Suddenly, Lydia wakes up, her eyes popping open, her mouth already ready for a scream. But then she sees Stiles. Everything else melts away.

Every dream he's ever had, every moment of his imprisonment feels like it has been teetering on the edge of this moment. Her eyes are wide, and the air around him is suddenly unbreathable. Time stands still as he waits for her face to mold into an expression of confusion. He's sure that she will have forgotten about him, that she will look at him and see only a stranger. Stiles can sense his heart ready to break, can feel the crushing weight of her memory loss hanging above him. He will not be able to bear it.

But then she breaths a name with a smile on her face so wide it might burst. " _Stiles._ " She says it so simply, so lovingly, he wonders if it was he who forgot it all along, because he's never quite understood its significance until this moment. " _Stiles._ "

And just like that they've fallen into each other's arms, and he can feel her heart beating like a steady clock against his chest. Her face is buried in his neck, her tears wetting his skin there, but he doesn't care. His hands are full of her skin, his nose full of her scent, and all he can think is that he needs more of her. As if sensing this, Lydia kisses and quick trail up his neck before locking her lips to his.

This kiss is even better than the last one, all the heat and the fire burning within them from relief this time instead of desperation. She holds onto him as if she wants to make him a part of her, and he has no objections. Her lips are full of promises and history, giving him hope for the future while reminding him of the past. There is wetness on his cheeks, and he can't tell whether it's from her eyes or his, but it doesn't matter because they're tears of joy either way.

Lydia pulls back eventually, gazing meaningfully into his eyes and saying, with forceful certainty, "I love you, Stiles Stilinski." She wipes a tear off of his cheek. "And I will never forget that." Stiles smiles at Lydia, wondering how he could have ever imagined that she would forget him. Her words are calming, as if some part of him has known, all along, that she would say them. She rests her forehead against his contentedly, and the rest of the world shifts slowly back into focus.

"I hate to interrupt, but I think he's waking up," Scott says, nodding his head at Stiles' dad. Stiles slowly disentangles himself from Lydia and goes over to his father. He's not really sure what to expect. Lydia and Scott remember him, but they're both supernatural, and his dad is not. Sheriff Stilinski opens his eyes and takes in Stiles. After a short hesitation, in which Stiles' heart nearly stops, he pulls his son to his chest and locks him in an embrace.

"Stiles," he cries, his voice full of relief and hope. "My boy." Stiles holds on to his father as tightly as possible, crying tears of relief into his uniform.

"Stiles?" he hears a voice ask behind him, and before he has a chance to turn around, Malia has pounced on him. She hugs him, her head resting on his back and he can feel her grin. After a moment, he pulls back and they all stand up. Looking around at all of their faces, he has a thought.

"Wait, so all of you remember me?" he asks, incredulous. "None of you forgot?" Everyone but Lydia begins to look uncomfortable.

"I forgot you for a bit, son," his father says, clasping his shoulder lovingly. He is the first to admit it, but the others follow in suit.

"I forgot, too," Malia tell him, looking ashamed.

"I didn't remember until the dream," Scott says. Stiles swallows, taking a deep breath.

"That's alright. You remember now. That's all that matters." He laces Lydia's finger with his own. "It's okay if you forgot, too. I understand." He gazes at her, not sure of the truth. But she is looking off into the distance, biting her lip the way she does when she's trying to work something out.

"A dream," she whispers. Everyone looks at her, confused.

"Lydia?" Stiles asks. She finally looks at him, and he can tell that she has an important thought. "What is it?"

"Malia, how did you remember Stiles?" she asks. Malia tilts her head.

"Well, I had a dream, about when I met him," she admits. "Then, all of a sudden, my memories came back." Lydia turns to Scott.

"Was that like your dream?" she asks. He nods.

"He came back in a dream to me as well," Sheriff Stilinski adds. Lydia nods, as if this just affirms what she already has concluded.

"I think I understand it now," she says. "Stiles, you're tethered to each of us in one way or another. Somehow, the tether became so strong that it reached into more than our minds. That's why they can't erase you completely: you're part of our souls." She looks around the cell. "It's also probably why we're here, together." Stiles squeezes her hand in his, understanding what she's saying.

"They're not powerful enough, so they're going to find another way."

"Or they're just going to kill us," Malia states in her usual manner. Just as she says this, the cell door opens and a man walks in, his face behind a mask.

"I'm not here to kill all of you," he tells them, his voice deep and precise. "Just one will do." Stiles is sure that he can see a smug grin behind the mask. Scott steps forward.

"And who would that be, exactly?" he asks defiantly. Horsemen appear behind him, their figures lurking in the shadows.

"The one you all fought so hard to rescue. The one you tried valiantly not to forget."

"No," Lydia whispers, her hand holding tight to Stiles' arm. The air around them becomes charged with electricity. The man opens his mouth, and what comes out is just one word, just a name. But the name is just as charged as the air around them.

"Stiles."


	12. The Key to Memory

Beacon Hills, 2001

 _He was at home waiting for her when he got the call. It was a normal Tuesday night, perhaps a bit more fog in the air than usual, but he thought nothing of it. She usually got home from the office at 6:00. The clock read 6:13 the last time he looked, and he figured she was running late._

 _She wasn't._

 _At around 5:55 pm on Dolore Road, Beverly Caram lost control of her car and crashed into a tree. The driver of the car behind her witnessed this accident and called an ambulance. She was taken to the ER in critical condition and put through three surgeries, one to remove a glass shard from her chest, one to correct the flow of blood to her heart, and another to fix the part of her skull that had been fractured by hitting the airbag._

 _The hospital wasn't very busy that Tuesday night, as if it knew that one world crashing down was enough. He waited in an uncomfortable chair for hours without any information on her condition before the doctor came to tell him that she would live and that he could see her if he would like._

 _When he walked into her room, all of the air he hadn't been able to breathe came rushing into him. She laid on the bed, unconscious and broken, but still breathing, still able to heal. To him, she had never been so beautiful. He sat beside her bed and slipped his hand into hers, resting his head on her stomach, and let the steady beat of the heart monitor sing him to sleep._

 _He woke up to a bright morning light shining through the hospital's cheap shades. He felt Beverly's hand squeeze his own and he started immediately. Her eyes were still closed but the heart monitor sped up._

" _Beverly," he whispered hoarsely. Slowly, she opened her eyes, her expression confused and scared._

" _What…" she managed before cutting herself off and staring at him strangely._

" _It's okay, honey," he assured her. "You've been in an accident but you're going to be alright." He smiled brightly, hoping that she couldn't see his worry. But her expression didn't change. If anything she seemed more confused than ever. She looked down at their intertwined hands and then back at him. Her gaze travelled his entire body before resting on his eyes._

" _Who are you?" she asked, and suddenly he couldn't breathe again._

" _My name is Michael." He searched her eyes for any sort of recognition, but there was nothing to find. "I'm your husband."_

* * *

Underground Tunnels, 2016

"You can't have him," Scott growls. Malia follows in suit, stepping up next to Scott and baring her teeth with a low grunt. The Sheriff joins them, standing in front of Stiles, holding up his gun. Lydia winds her arms around him, daring them to try pulling them apart. They make a fiercely brilliant team, a force for anyone to reckon with. But the man just laughs.

"You can't defeat me, so I would advise you to give this up this defiance now, before you get yourselves unnecessarily killed," he says. Malia growls. "I only need the _Halteseil._ It would be a shame to waste the lives of so many just for one."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Malia spews. "What's a Halte-whatever?" The masked man begins to pace.

" _Halteseil_ ," he pronounces distinctly. "German for tether. It's the word the Horsemen use. Some mythologists call it the _Lösung_ , the key. French mythologists often called it the _attache_. Either way, it's the thing I've been searching for for fifteen years."

"What does Stiles have to do with it?" Scott asks. The man opens his mouth, but he is not the one to provide the answer.

"He _is_ it," Lydia announces, her voice full of dread. "Stiles is the key."


	13. The Memories of Michael Caram

Beacon Hills, 2003

 _It had been two years since his wife's accident, and almost every lead had fallen flat. The miracle medic from Indonesia turned out to be a sham. The memory potion from the spiritualists in Zimbabwe killed more people than it saved. The only one left had been a farfetched myth about Horsemen and the Wild Hunt. They were supposed to be commanders of memory, but they were cursed upon their creation, a curse that, once broken, would free their powers._

 _But somehow Michael had found them, had reached their base of operations. It was a camber of tunnels that technically existed between dimensions. After an exhaustive trip around ancient Germanic sites, he had gotten all that he needed. Once inside the tunnels, he used the power of the_ Peitsche _, their sacred whip, to command them like an army._

 _It was a lonely pursuit, since the Horsemen were less than people and couldn't talk, but he knew it would be worth it once he figured out how to break the curse. He spent every waking hour pouring through mythology and historical documents that could give him clues. When he wasn't doing that, he was examining every inch of the Horsemen's tunnels. He knew that there had to be a way to lift the curse, because the alternative was to believe that he had done all of it for nothing. That his wife would never remember or love him again._

 _Finally, one day, when he had almost reached his breaking point, Michael stumbled upon a hidden room within the tunnels. It looked like a shrine of some sort, and when he went up to the altar, he found a tablet inscribed with ancient text. He translated it from ancient Germanic dialect:_

The Horsemen may only take away what lives in the mind. Until the key has untethered the mind and the heart, they will never reach their full power.

 _This insight led him to a story about the curse he had not noticed before, for it had never mentioned the Horsemen directly. But it spoke of killing the "key" in a ritual sacrifice in order to restore the rightful power of a clan of ghosts. He realized that the key would have to be someone who could not be forgotten, someone whose emotional tether was so strong that, by breaking it, he would unlink the mind and the soul._

 _So he travelled around with the Horsemen, looking for the key. Sometimes, people had to be taken, some got hurt, some got killed. Eventually, Michael stopped caring about killing people, stopped worrying about who he hurt. All he wanted was to find the key and restore his wife's memory. He wanted her to love him again, so much so that he stopped caring about whether or not he deserved it._

* * *

Underground Tunnels, 2016

"Well aren't you the smart one," the man says, eyeing Lydia with a smile on his face. "Tell me, sweetheart, do you know why I need him?" The man looks almost amused and Lydia wants to slap the expression off of his face.

"If he's the tether, that means he's holding something together. But if he's also a key, that means he can unlock that very thing," she says, beginning to understand it all but afraid of the answer she's come up with. The man nods his head enthusiastically.

"You're on the right track." The man paces but doesn't come towards the pack.

"We didn't forget him, even though the Horsemen tried to make us," she continues, putting more pieces into place. Lydia looks around the room, assessing the altar to her right, which seems to have an inscribed tablet on it. The text seems Germanic in origin, but she can't be sure. Still it seems familiar. And then, suddenly, it clicks into place. The Horsemen, the Temple-like room they're in, the tablet.

Lydia read a history of folklore book once, and in it there was a story about ghosts chained up by a curse that tethered the mind and the heart, keeping them from reaching unlimited power. It was meant to save them from themselves, but that wasn't good enough for one of them, and so he searched for a key that would break the tether. The key turned out to live inside the most beautiful maiden in all the land, and he ended up falling in love with her. They lived together happily for a while until she realized that he was a ghost. That night, brokenhearted and naive, she took her own life. This unlocked the ghosts powers, and most of them rejoiced. But they ended up destroying themselves, the new power too much for them to handle.

"It's a sacrifice," Lydia announces. "You're planning to kill Stiles so that the Horsemen can become all powerful." The man actually looks surprised for a second before beginning to slowly clap.

"Smarter than I thought," he admits. "Took me months to figure it out." He laughs and grins at Stiles. "I can see why you care for her so much." His expression almost turns wistful.

"Why do you want them to be so powerful?" she asks. " You're not even one of them."

"And I don't want to be. But I need them to do something for me, to restore something that was taken a long time ago."

"And what would that be?" Scott asks.

"My wife's memories, of course."


	14. Where Memories Come to Die

"What?" Scott asks, confused, not for the first time, by the masked man's words. But the masked man seems to be done with talking. With a whistle, the Horsemen file into the room, their figures ominous in the damp darkness of the underground temple.

"Take the _Halteseil._ " The man motions towards Stiles. "Kill the rest if you have to."

There is silence, a moment of pause right before all hell breaks lose. A noise like thunder seems to echo through the tunnels. Then there is a surge of forces, the Horsemen against the pack.

Scott runs up to two of the Horsemen, claws out, teeth sharp. He knows that logically, he has no chance against them, but that doesn't stop him from lashing out at them in any way he can. Malia is by his side, flipping up onto one of the horses to gain the upper hand. The sheriff is out of Scott's line of sight, indicating that he is probably protecting Lydia and Stiles. Scott hears a scream followed by a gunshot, and one of the Horsemen gets thrown back. He looks over his shoulder for a second and sees the sheriff and Lydia working together, forming a wall between the Horsemen and Stiles.

Lydia is using her powers to throw the Horsemen back, and the sheriff has his gun out, shooting at anything moving against him. Stiles has picked up a long piece of wood and seems to be using it as a bat. It's enough to make the corners of Scott's mouth lift a bit.

With renewed vigor, Scott jumps to attack the Horsemen in front of him and manages to take one down. Malia is out of his sight now, but he has all the confidence in the world that she's handling herself well. The fight begins to turns their way, the Horsemen getting overpowered. Scott believes, for one glorious second, that they might actually win this battle.

That's when more Horsemen gallop into the room, thunder following their arrival. Soon, they've got Scott and Malia cornered. Scott hears a cry of pain come from behind him, and he turns to see the sheriff on the ground, his leg bleeding. Lydia has been overpowered by the Horsemen, her screams cut of off by a hand to her throat. Stiles rushes to help his father, but he's grabbed by a Horseman in the process.

"Dad!" Stiles screams as they drag him towards the altar in the center of the room. Lydia struggles against the Horseman, a desperate fear in her eyes. It's all happening too fast.

"Stiles!" Scott yells, scratching and clawing at the Horsemen blocking him from saving his best friend. But it's no use; he can't get through. "Stiles!" Scott looks around frantically, but Malia is lying unconscious on the ground next to him, the sheriff is holding his bloody leg, and Lydia is still being held by the Horsemen.

The maksed man readies a knife while the Horsemen hold Stiles down next to the altar. The man dips the knife into a strange liquid then coats it in what looks like ash. Stiles is still struggling against the Horsemen, but it's no use. One of them punches him in the face causing blood to spray from his mouth ad nose. Scott hears Lydia make a suffocated noise; she sounds like she's dying.

"Mit diesem Schlüssel breche ich das Halteseil," he recites. "Mit diesem Messer verrenze ich den Geist und das Herz." He continues chanting these two lines until his knife is hanging directly over Stiles' heart. Scott watches as the masked man takes off his mask, a tear running down his cheek. He looks middle aged, but worn down. His eyes are sad and lost, a deep green the shade of leaves in a rainforest.

The man tenderly announces, "For Beverly," his expression swimming in grief. And then he plunges his knife into solid flesh. Except, Stiles isn't the person he stabs. A howl, full of pain and misery, comes from the man's victim. There is confusion for both Stiles and the masked man.

Everything seems to stop.

"Malia?" Stiles asks, her body covering his own. There is a moment of breathlessness, the kind where time stands still, before the man rips the knife from Malia's chest. Somehow, amidst the chaos, she managed to escape from the Horsemen's barricade. Malia's face reveals a world of pain. Scott can't believe his own eyes. This just cannot be happening.

"Maliaaaaaaa!" Lydia screams, the sound vibrating within the tunnels. It's more than just a banshee cry. It's filled with heartbreak and rage, the sound of a young girl losing yet another young friend. Strangely, the Horsemen seem to be affected by this. They contract in on themselves, backing away from the pack. Scott takes this as his moment to crash through them, and when he reaches the masked man, he doesn't hesitate to knock him out.

The man falls down, leaving the altar bare except for two bodies intertwined among the rubble. Scott watches as Stiles cradles Malia in his arms, her face growing pale. Waves of pain crash over him as he's forced to remember his last moments with Allison.

" _I can't take your pain," he told her, confusion and worry seeping into desperation. Allison just smiled up at him, her expression wistful._

" _That's because it doesn't hurt," she said, blood coating her lips._

" _No," he cried, understanding that her death was imminent, but unable to accept it._

" _It's okay."_

" _Allison." The tears were flowing freely now, rolling down his cheeks. He could hear her heart beginning to fail, could feel the slower beats as her blood stopped moving._

" _It's okay, it's okay, it's okay." She reached her hand up to cradle his cheek. "_ _It's perfect. I'm in the arms of my first love. The first person I ever loved. The person I'll always love. I love you. Scott. Scott McCall."_

He remembers it all, every second of her death. He remembers begging her to stay, even though he knew it would do no good. He remembers the way her hand fell against the ground when her heart finally stopped all together. A tear was still falling down her cheek even as her body grew cold. He'll always remember holding her lifeless body in his arms, sobbing and wishing for all of it to be some horrible nightmare from which he could wake up.

Now he watches as it happens again, only it's not him and Allison this time. It's Stiles and Malia.


	15. Holding on to the Memories

"Malia," Stiles whispers in shock. He shakes his head, unwilling to accept this turn of events. "No." Her arms are folded in on herself, her body shaking uncontrollably. He surveys the wound, running his hands over the blood and the ashes the knife left behind. "We're going to get you to Deaton." He nods, assuring himself that it will work. "He'll know what to do. He'll fix this." But Malia just shakes her head.

"Stiles," she whispers, her breath coming in laborious spurts. Her hand moves towards his torso and she rests her fingers on the skin enclosing his heart. "You're okay." She says it as though it's the only thing that matters. Perhaps, to her, it is. The edges of her mouth lift slightly before she coughs and wheezes, blood staining her lips. Stiles gently takes her hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Yeah," he says, his voice cracking. "You saved me." She shivers and Stiles pulls her closer.

"Good." Malia closes her eyes. But Stiles isn't ready to let go of her yet.

"No," he states, shaking his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. "You can't do this." She opens her eyes, and Stiles sees the pain in them. "You said you'd never leave me behind, remember?"

"I'm sorry," Malia tells him, and it's an apology he can't accept.

"No, no, no," he repeats, as if denying it will turn back time, as if it could give Malia her life back, the life she deserves after everything she's been through.

"Yes," she says simply. Her breaths are barely coming now, her chest beginning to heave. "I'm so sorry. But also-" She cuts herself off with a bloody cough, contracting in on herself. Stiles rubs her arms in an attempt to comfort her.

"What, Malia?" he asks. His throat feels suffocatingly small, as if he's choking on grief.

"Thank you," she tells him. "I know I'm not the love of your life." She looks over at a tearful Lydia, a peaceful expression on her face. Then she directs her gaze back at him, the light in her eyes growing dim. "But you were the love of mine." A tear rolls down her cheek. "So be happy."

"I love you, Malia," Stiles tells her, because he knows he always will. She manages a small smile and uses her last bit of strength to reach hand up and touch his face tenderly.

"Thank you," she breathes, and then she goes limp.

" _Maliaaaaaaaaaa_!" Lydia screams, indicating that Malia is truly gone. Suddenly, the temple begins to shake and the Horsemen all look upwards. In a flash, they disappear, their departure followed by the roaring sound of thunder.

Images flash before his eyes, fragments of memories, most of them of Malia. With Lydia's scream still ringing in his ears, he allows himself to appreciate his time with the fierce werecoyote that was Malia Tate.

" _Just focus on something," he was telling her."Focus on my voice, or-" She cut him off with a kiss, and it still surprised him that this beautiful, strong girl chose to be with him. When she pulled back, he watched her brown eyes turn crystal blue, their beauty and depth never wavering. That was when he realized that he was her anchor. She needed him to hold her here, and that was exactly what he planned to do._

" _I'd never leave you behind," she had said to him, her expression serious, her eyes wide. Until that moment, he hadn't been sure that she felt for him what he felt for her. Now, looking into the warm darkness of her irises, he knew the truth._

" _You did it," he told her after she managed to stay human on the night of the full moon. He understood the effort it took, the strain he had put on her. But he was certain that Malia could do it, he just needed to assure her that he wouldn't leave. She hugged him, still seeming shocked and grateful, but Stiles wasn't shocked at all. He always knew she had it in her._

" _The vision," Malia said, grinning._

" _Don't mock the vision," he teased._

" _Hey, I like the vision," Malia told him. "Especially if I'm part of it." They both smiled and when they kissed, it felt like the beginning of something great. Looking back, it was more like the beginning of the end._

Tears flows freely down Stiles' face as he gazes around the ruined temple. His father is lying on the ground, a piece of fabric cutting off the blood pouring from his leg. Lydia has gone over to the sheriff and is trying to help him up, but Stiles can see the slight tremor of her hands, the way she's trying to hold it together. Scott is on his knees, and when he locks eyes with Stiles, no words are needed. They have always shared everything; they will share in this grief now, too. After a few moments, Scott gets up, grabs the unconscious masked man, and turns towards his friends.

"Let's get out of here."


	16. Her Memory Lives On

Lydia wears a simple black dress; it's the same one she wore to Allison's funeral last year. She had hoped she'd never have to wear it again, especially not so soon. Naive of her considering what her life has become: Werewolves and Kitsune and Banshees. Loss comes with the territory. At least, that's what she tells herself in moments of weakness, when she feels like she can't breathe, let alone get up and act like she's okay.

And she has to be okay, because Stiles is a mess.

He hasn't been able to sleep through the night in the week since Malia's death. The first night was the worst: she held him as he screamed her name, his body thrashing, his face wet. Lydia had laid with him until his lungs gave out and his throat was raw. And still, he whimpered, as if he needed to let all of the grief out or else it would crush him entirely. She understood his grief, understood what it was like to feel your heart thrashing around inside your ribcage, clawing its way out in order to escape its own torment. So she just stayed with him and held him into the night until he was empty.

That morning, she watched as he slept, his face peaceful and unburdened, and she was sure that he was in a dream somewhere in his mind, a dream in which Malia was still alive. But eventually, as with any dream, he awoke from it disappointed with reality. She could see it on his face, could pinpoint the exact moment he remembered the harsh truth of Malia's death. His brown eyes shone like glass on the brink of shattering. She held him then, too.

Now she walks up to the casket, passing Scott, the sheriff, and Mr. Tate on the way. The casket is a simple black box, such an unfit representation of the body it holds. On it Lydia lays a rose, a vibrant but vicious flower that never fails to remind her of her friend. She makes sure to let the thorns cut her hand before putting it down, knowing that nothing beautiful ever comes without pain. She hopes Malia is somewhere out there, grinning about the Banshee getting her hands dirty.

When it's time for the eulogy, she lightly kisses Stiles on the cheek before taking her place in front of the intimate gathering. As she looks out at the small crowd, each face that looks back wears a different expression of grief. Unfolding her speech, Lydia takes a deep breath and begins.

"Thank you all for gathering here today to celebrate the life of Malia Tate." She clears her throat, feeling like her voice needs more power behind it. "Malia was a fierce friend and a loving daughter." Lydia takes a moment to lock eyes with Mr. Tate. "But she was more than that: she was a fighter, a survivor. I don't think I've ever met anyone as strong as she was, and I doubt I ever will." Lydia allows herself a small smile. "This life is cruel to us all: it knocks us down again and again, and it doesn't always wait for us to get back up. Malia felt this cruelty all too often. But she was able to endure it; she even found a way to thrive in the midst of it, a feat that will continue to inspire me as long as I live." Lydia's throat is beginning to close up, but she powers through it, feeling like Malia is here with her somehow.

"Grief is similarly cruel. Sometimes it can feel as though our pain is crashing against us, begging us to break entirely. But we will survive it, if not for ourselves, then for those we've lost. Because they deserve to be honored." The tears are falling now for the first time since the day it happened, since Lyida's cries echoed in that godforsaken temple where Malia's final breath left her body. "My mother used to say that the dead are still with us, that their spirits live on. I used to ask her if she meant that they were in heaven, but she would just shake her head. She said they were in here." Lydia places her hand on her heart. "And in so many ways, they are. But they're also in here." Lydia points to her head, specifically her brain. "I believe that Malia lives on in our minds, in every experience we've ever shared, every word we've ever exchanged." Tears have stained the sheet of paper with her words on it. "She's alive in our memories, and as long as we still have them, she'll never truly be gone."

Lydia feels it then, as the breeze picks up at the end of her speech: a soft brush on her right shoulder. She looks over and finds a vibrantly red leaf resting on her skin, its color contrasting with the green shades of the spring foliage. And somehow, she knows that Malia truly is with her, that her friend has heard her goodbye, that she'll be okay. Lydia smiles peacefully and walks over to Stiles. The group gets up to lower the casket, and Stiles catches her in a soft hug.

"I love you," he whispers into the skin of her neck, the grief in his voice lessened by the hope in his words. Lydia tightens her grip on him, burying her face in his shirt, taking in the comforting scent that is _Stiles_. The wind blows all around them, drying their tears on their faces.

"I love you, too," Lydia says, and it's more than a confession. It's a promise. A promise to stand by each other when times are hard, a promise to build a future together, to love each other until their broken pieces don't cut them anymore.

That's what love is: a never ending vow.


	17. Epilogue: Remember Me

Beacon Hills, 2026

Stiles wakes up with sunlight shining on his face. For one disorienting moment, he forgets where he is. But then he feels her body lying against him, and he knows he's home. She turns into him, still half asleep, resting her hand lazily on his chest.

"Was it the nightmare again?" she asks, her voice groggy. Stiles knows the nightmare she's talking about, the one in which he runs towards the tortured screams of his best friends, never able to reach them. But it wasn't that this time. In this dream, he was reliving Malia's death, another recurring theme. Letting the images drift away, he shakes his head.

"No, Lydia," he tells her. He runs his hand through her silky red hair. She sighs. "I'm sorry I woke you." He rests his head on his hand, facing her. She lies on her back gazing up at him, tracing circles on his bare chest. After seven years of marriage, Stiles should be used to waking up next to her, but part of him will always be the teenage dork hopelessly crushing on the most popular girl in school. Sometimes, he can't believe that she is his wife.

"It's okay," she says. "We have to get up soon anyway." She glances over at the clock beside their bed. It reads 8:23 am. Stiles moans and buries his face into Lydia's neck.

"Nooo," he teases. "Can't we just stay in bed all day?" He kisses the soft skin of her collarbone as she shakes her head and laughs.

"I have to get the food ready and you need to clean up around here," she reminds him. "Everyone's coming over." Lydia smirks at him, and he knows that she wants to stay here just as much as he does.

"They're not here yet," he notes, acting like he's searching the room for guests. She laughs at his theatrics, playing along.

"They're not, are they?" she responds in an overly innocent voice. Stiles grins as she pulls him to her, letting his hands travel along her back, pressing his lips against hers. Even after all the years they've spent together, her touch still ignites a fire within him, and her love still astounds him. He tries to express his amazement through his body, gently caressing her cheek as his lips wander down her throat. Lydia responds by wrapping her legs around him and sighing. Soon, they are lost in each other, both laughing and declaring their love through words and motions.

"Stiles," she sighs, pulling back from him. "We really do have to get ready." Her eyes are full of desire, and he knows she wishes that they could forget the world outside even exists. Stiles would happily do the same. He is about to lean down and kiss her again when someone bursts into their room. They startle apart.

"Daddy! Mommy!" their little girl, Allison, shouts as she jumps onto their bed. Stiles and Lydia laugh as Stiles pulls her into his arms.

"What did we tell you about knocking, Alli?" Lydia scolds tenderly. Alli pouts, hanging her head, her auburn hair falling around her face.

"Sorry, Mommy," she says, her voice sweet and melodic. Lydia smiles, kissing the four year old on her nose.

"You're forgiven," she tells her. "But knock next time, honey." Stiles tickles his daughter, and he delights in hearing her high pitched laugh. Lydia laughs with her and they make a beautiful harmony.

"Are you ready for today?" Stiles asks Alli. She nods, eager to see everyone. "Well then we better get you dressed." Stiles picks her up and zooms her to her room, winking at his wife as he leaves the bedroom.

Hours later, their house is full of friends, family, and love. Sheriff Stilinski leans against the kitchen counter, a glass of wine in his hand, telling some horror story about his work, while Cory and Mason listen attentively, their hands intertwined. Stiles fondly recalls their wedding ceremony a few months ago. Liam and Hayden, who have been happily married for about two years now, sit near the fireplace, whispering to each other. Mama McCall is laughing at something Argent has said, and even Derek seems to be having somewhat of a good time, talking to Alli while she plays with her toys.

Just as Stiles pulls Lydia in for a kiss, he sees Scott out of the corner of his eye. His best friend comes over with a very pregnant Kira on his arm, both of them beaming. Stiles hugs him as Lydia asks how Kira is feeling.

"I'm fine," Kira tells them. "The morning sickness just went way and my doctor prescribed me something for the swelling." She holds her hand on her stomach, smiling brightly. Scott kisses her on the cheek and then they share a look.

"We actually went to the doctor yesterday," Scott says. "And he said that the baby's a girl." Lydia squeezes Stiles' arm and squeals.

"Oh my god!" she exclaims. "I'm so happy for you guys!" Meanwhile, Stiles pats Scott on the shoulder.

"Thanks," Kira says.

"Have you thought about names?" Lydia asks. Kira and Scott exchange a meaningful look.

"We were actually going to talk to you guys about that before deciding," Scott answers, laying his hand over Kira's on her stomach.

"Well what were you thinking?" Stiles asks.

"Malia," Scott tells them. There is a small pang within Stiles' heart at the sound of her name, a reminder of the pain that will never really go away. Lydia stand s beside him, stunned.

"If you guys think it's a bad idea, we can-" Kira begins, but Lydia puts a soft hand on her arm, a sad smile on her face.

"It's lovely," she tells Kira. Stiles rests his hand on Lydia's back, letting her know how grateful he is that she read his mind. All four of them stand there a moment, glowing with the radiance of Malia's memory.

"It's going to be one hell of a name to live up to," Scott says with a grin.

"Your baby girl will have no problem with it," Stiles assures him. "I'm sure of it." Stiles gives his best friend a hug before taking Lydia by the hand and leading her into the dining room where the food is ready to be eaten. Lydia calls everyone over and they find their seats. Stiles and Lydia stand side by side, their arms around each other, facing their pack.

"We'd like to thank everyone for being here," Stiles begins.

"As you all know, today is the seven year anniversary of our marriage, and we're so glad we can share it with all of you," Lydia finishes for him. They grin at each other.

"So here's a toast to our pack, our family, and many more love filled years ahead of us," Stiles says, and they all raise their glasses. Hours later, Stiles is sitting in his favorite chair, watching everyone interact, knowing that he's blessed beyond belief. Lydia comes over and sits in his lap, nestling her face into his neck.

"I just put Alli to bed," she tells him. He sighs, kissing her on the forehead. They rest like that for a while, observing their beautiful mess of a life. It hasn't always been easy, full of gut wrenching loss and grief, but they've gotten through it together.

"I love you," he whispers to her, holding tightly to the belief that he can never say it enough.

"I love you, too," she whispers back, and then she kisses his ready lips, finishing off this perfect night.

Stiles knows that this night will eventually cease to be, that it will fade into the inevitable day, but for now, he's happy. His best friend is finally getting the family he always desired, his little girl is tucked in safely, and his gorgeous wife is in his arms, where she belongs. Lydia rests her head on his shoulder, breathing softly, her heartbeat matching his.

He realizes, remotely, that this will all become a memory one day, that even those who remember this will fade into oblivion leaving this life behind. But that's not what makes this life important. This life isn't worth it because it lasts; in fact, the opposite is true.

Stiles turns to Lydia, looking into those vibrant eyes he could never forget, and says, "This is a night I'll always remember." She smiles, understanding his thoughts without a word.

"Me too."


	18. Thank You and Goodbye

**So... that's a wrap on this story! I want to thank all of you guys for reading this, for leaving helpful comments, and for bearing with me while I figured out where exactly all of this was headed. This has been my first full Fanfiction, and I'm beyond grateful that it has been received so well. To all of you who were crushed by the death of Malia Tate, I feel you. Stiles, Lydia, and Scott feel you, too, but I felt like it was where the story was going. It's important that you know that I love every one of these characters and writing Malia's death hurt me immensely. But thank you all for sticking with me through it! I hope to write another Teen Wolf Fanfiction one day (probably not in the near future). For now, you can check out some of my other works including a Shadowhunters AU, a 100 story, and some random snippets from other TV shows. Once again, thank you all!**


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